


incl. one (1) existential crisis; do not mix with alcohol or a broken heart

by Netgirl_y2k



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, I Ava, Non-Sexual Bedsharing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k
Summary: "No, I need - " a boatload of aspirin, for none of this to have happened, my memories wiped,yourmemories wiped, for you to take me to bed and do whatever it was you did to that puritan girl I read about in your file that convinced her you'd traded your soul to the devil for your tongue " - I just need to lie down."





	incl. one (1) existential crisis; do not mix with alcohol or a broken heart

Ava let her head loll back against the armchair in Sara's office, empty tumbler held loosely by her fingertips.

Whiskey was said to be just the thing when you'd had a shock, and arguably the second drink had been medicinal too, but Ava should have made her excuses to leave when Sara had proffered the bottle for a third time. 

She should have gone back to her office and started researching 2213, or made a start on tracking down Rip; there she could have put her head down on the desk and slept. She might even have gone back to her apartment that was filled with mementos of things that had never happened and a cat that hated her. God, he probably wasn't even her cat, he'd probably been living some blameless feline life somewhere before he was snatched up to be the finishing touch to the charade that was Ava's life. 

"I think I know why he hates me." 

"Who hates you?" asked Sara, obligingly topping up both their glasses.

"Socks. I always thought he was just mad that I was never home, but I guess he knew a -" Ava swallowed, and forced herself to say the word " - clone when he saw one."

"That cat hates everyone." The corner of Sara's mouth quirked up and then down. "That was a good bra that he shredded." 

At least Ava knew that memory - the memory of applying antiseptic cream to the long claw marks down Sara's back, while the topless Sara had squirmed, and whined, and repeatedly reached out for her saying, 'Ava, come on. I had worse when I was, you know, a vigilante. Ava, come on, _come here_ ' - was real because Sara remembered it too. 

Ava raised her glass in a toast to that memory and mostly succeeded in sloshing whiskey down her shirt. 

"Whoa," said Sara, neatly plucking the glass from Ava's hand.

Ava should not be this drunk. 

Okay, Sara's idea of a measure of whiskey wasn't exactly regulation, but Ava had drunk literal Vikings under the table; during Time Bureau training she had held Gary's hair back as he vomited into a unisex toilet, Gary had sported a ponytail in those days, they don't talk about it. Only now Ava can't help but wonder if the reason they don't talk about it is that it never actually happened. 

The point is-- the point is that Ava should not be this drunk after three and a bit drinks, even Sara Lance sized ones.

Ava had portalled back from Vegas this morning, stopping only to take a quick shower and grab a fresh suit before heading into the office; she had started the day dehydrated and sleep-deprived, and was ending it on an empty stomach and having recently fought her own clone army. 

Ava had gone from painfully sober to depressingly drunk without the soft focus, painless bit in the middle. 

Sara set Ava's glass down, and took Ava's hands in both of hers. "I think you should spend the night here." 

_Yes, please_. Ava was quite proud of herself for not actually saying that out loud. 

Sara tugged Ava to her feet. Ava was taller, and woozier than she'd anticipated, and overbalanced right into Sara. 

Sara caught her around the waist to arrest her stumble, her fingers hooking around Ava's belt, her knuckles digging into the soft flesh of her hips. Sara exhaled, holding Ava close. She looked up at Ava with a pettit lower lip and half closed eyes. 

"Sara, I--" 

Sara cleared her throat and stepped back, dragging Ava with her for half a step before she remembered to let go of her belt. She cleared her throat again, and just like that she was back behind the line she'd been toeing all night: the one where she cared about Ava, was here for her, and was happy to pour as much of Gideon's fabricated whiskey down her neck as Ava wanted, but they were most definitely still broken up. 

"I'll show you to one of the spare bunks."

Right, because it didn't matter how often the configuration of the crew changed, or how many people were aboard at any given time, the Waverider always had plenty of spare bunks. 

Stupid Waverider. 

Back when Ava had known with absolute certainty who she was - yesterday, Tuesday, last week - she had known that she was not the kind of woman to have inadvisable sex with two different exes in the same twenty-four hour period. 

Las Vegas might have felt like it happened three hundred years ago but it had only been last night, and oh God, did Ava even have an ex-girlfriend in Vegas or was Emily another actor...or a different word that was more appropriate when somebody had been paid to have sex with you?

"Ugh."

"Hey," said Sara, looking torn between rubbing Ava's back and going for the trashcan, "are you going to be sick?"

"No, I need - " a boatload of aspirin, for none of this to have happened, my memories wiped, _your_ memories wiped, for you to take me to bed and do whatever it was you did to that puritan girl I read about in your file that convinced her you'd traded your soul to the devil for your tongue " - I just need to lie down."

"Okay," said Sara gently, wrapping Ava's arm around her waist, "we can do that."

There was nothing charged in Sara's touch as she encouraged Ava to lean on her in a practiced way that implied that this was far from the first time that she'd had to put a sloppy drunk to bed. 

With their arms around each other they walked past the kitchen where Gary had introduced Settlers of Catan into the Legends' game night. 

Ray looked up, his eyes widening a little when he saw them, but he couldn't have told anyone else about Ava's clone club, because Rory leered at them, Zari rolled her eyes, and Gary gave Ava a big grin and two thumbs up. 

With his memories wiped Gary would be back to thinking that he'd been covering for Ava while she took an unauthorized sex vacation on the Waverider. 

"The thing about Gary - " Ava began, because of course they'd had to flash him, if he hadn't announced 'Director Sharpe is a clone' at the morning briefing then his mother-henning would have given the game away, but it seemed important that Sara know that Ava didn't feel good about it " - is that he's my best Gary."

Ava stopped, tried to work out if she'd misspoken, and decided that no, that was exactly what she'd meant. Sara seemed to get it too, because she looked back down the corridor to where a roar was coming from game night and said, "Yeah, I've got at least six best Garys." 

The empty bunk Sara steered her into was nothing but a bed, an uncomfortable looking chair, and a set of empty shelves; no possessions, no personal touches, perfect for a clone.

Ava sat heavily on the end of the bed and started pulling the pins out of her hair; it had been up all day and not washed in three, and fell heavily, dully down her back. Not so long ago Ava's biggest problem had been how much she was spending on conditioner in an awkward effort to get Sara to notice her as something more than Agent Sharpe. 

Sara knelt, taking off Ava's shoes, and then pushed her blazer off her shoulders. She hung the jacket over the back of the chair and lined up Ava's shoes; a nice touch from a woman who if not for Gideon would keep all her clothes in a heap on the floor.

Sara pulled Ava up and reached down to unbuckle her belt.

Finding out that you were a clone, that your entire life was a lie, was like getting a nasty concussion, like working out far beyond the point of exhaustion; at a certain point Ava's body had just stopped cooperating and she'd surrendered herself to being undressed and tucked in like a child.

But when Sara flicked open the top button on Ava's pants with practiced ease Ava caught her wrists. "Sara, I--"

"Um, maybe you should--?" 

"Yeah. Okay." 

Sara turned away and flipped the bed covers down, fluffing the pillows like she had a vendetta against them, while Ava shimmied out of her pants. She briefly considered not taking them off, but she was a grown woman - Ha. _Grown_ woman. Ha ha - and not about to sleep in her clothes. Sara kept her back turned until Ava was in bed.

"Sleep tight, okay?" said Sara. "We'll come up with a plan of attack tomorrow."

"Hey, you're not leaving, are you?"

"No. Um. No. Of course not."

Sara climbed onto the bed, on top of the covers, with her shoes on, because they were definitely still broken up. 

As much as she kind of hated herself for it, if Sara had been offering pity sex Ava would have grabbed at the chance with both hands, but if that had been what Sara wanted it would be happening already, and the sad truth was that it would never, _ever_ be enough for Ava. 

Ava wondered if the company that had manufactured her had meant for her to have anxiety spirals, and an inability to handle her liquor under stressful circumstances, and tendency to fall too hard and too fast for beautiful timeship captains who apparently didn't feel the same. 

"So much for being the perfect woman," she muttered sleepily. 

"You know," said Sara, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Ava's cheek, catching the corner of her mouth, "that's pretty much the only part of this situation that I don't have questions about."

Sara stretched herself out along Ava's length, getting comfortable and wrapping her arm around Ava.

"Go to sleep, Ava. Captain's orders." 


End file.
